After mission remedy
by banshee-hime
Summary: Kanda has never been known as a careful one among his fellow Exorcists. He gets hurt on missions more than one would expect. So, when he gets back, he naturally wants some medicine? Though, this remedy is a bit different. Kanda/OC Voulez-vous? spin-off one-shot, can be read alone


**Enjoy :D**

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 **Title: After mission remedy**

 **Rating: T**

 **Warnings: A bit of suggestiveness**

 **Pairing: Kanda/OC**

 **Word count: 2966**

 **Original story: Voulez-vous**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and my wicked mind xD**

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 **If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?**

 **If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?**

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He marched down the hall, his long Exorcist cloak billowing behind him like some sort of a cape. His report had been brief and the Supervisor knew already not to question the tight lipped man when he was in one of his moods. There hadn't been much to report. He had arrived to the destination, fought Akuma, found that there was no Innocence and returned to the Order. Though, he had sustained a couple of injuries on his week-long excursion.

There was a nasty bruise on his side, right in between his sixth and seventh rib, and by the way it stung whenever he took a breath, they were either cracked or broken. He had hoped for the former, as then, they would take merely a day or so to heal, due to his abilities. The gash on his back was from a careless moment, when he'd reached over to help a little boy up in the midst of fighting. A pitiful Level Two had taken its chance and struck him from behind, like the coward which it was, just as he was yelling at the child to run. He'd done a fair job patching that one up, with a little assistance from an unnamed woman, the Inn keeper's daughter, who'd looked so pale by the end of the stitching that he was certain she'd faint. Miraculously, those threads hadn't snapped on his way Home. It appeared that he had been right in his assumption: needlework was the same, whether one was working on skin or on fabric.

His heavy boots were making his footsteps resound the silent hallways, the only noise jumping off the dark walls like it was a beat of the drum. He could feel his head swim, the lines between the stone tiles on the floor dancing about in front of his eyes. Perhaps that last slam against the wall had given him a small concussion. But, he wasn't worried. He was never worried about his body. He knew it the best, after all. He knew just how much he could take. And, this was nothing.

From the moment when he'd acquired the first injury, a small bruise at the base of his throat which was all but gone by now, he had felt the warmth spread through him. It was like energy, but different, because it wasn't his. It wasn't him channeling his katana. It wasn't him using his Innocence. No, this was a different kind of energy. It was like when you drank hot tea a bit too quickly and it burned its way down your throat, yet you could still taste the sweet liquid and the plant which it was made out of. Except, it didn't spread only down his throat. The fire was everywhere, healing him slowly, yet burning him all the same. He'd learned to ignore it in time. Now, the heat was but a tickle in the back of his mind.

Hence, he wasn't worried. He'd rejected the offer of going to the medical to get checked out, shrugging off his wounds. They would be gone by morning. If not, they would be gone by the next one. He didn't want medicine. He wanted something else. He craved it.

The smell of daffodils. The gentle fingers running through his hair and down his shoulders. The soft lips caressing his own. The whispers of promises and affections in the dark. The red hair that spilt all over his pillows. The soft skin under his calloused fingertips. The way her breasts were pushed up by those corsets that she loved to wear. The way her legs would wrap around his waist. The way she called out his name when she reached her peak.

He'd known, for a while now, that there was only one medicine that could truly help him.

He opened the door of his room, not in the least surprised to see her on his bed, reading a book under the only light in the room, a small lamp on his nightstand. She looked up, a little surprised to see him, as she'd obviously expected him later that week. He tuned out her surprised words of welcome in favor of taking in her form. Her hair was loose, the ends curling, still damp from her bath. She was wearing her reading glasses, something which the Nurse always warned her to do and she usually disregarded. Her legs, creamy pale legs, were sprawled over his navy sheets and he found his eyes glued to them, instead of her lips, like usual.

He'd always loved her legs, mused the man, letting go of his katana and setting it by the door. In fact, the first time he noticed that she had great ones was when she'd plopped into his lap in a completely relaxed fashion, during one of the early days of their strange companionship. How he'd hated what she did to him back then. He'd hated the way he leaned in whenever she passed, just to get a whiff of her perfume. He'd hated how whenever she smiled a zoo of animals was set loose in his stomach. He'd hated how whenever she came close, pressing herself to him in a knowingly suggestive manner, his ears would be on fire and he'd have to use all of his self-control to calm his raging heartbeat. How he loved all of those things now.

He took of his coat and toed off his boots, leaving them carelessly on the floor and crossed the room in seconds. She'd realized his mood by then. She always knew. That was also one of the things which he'd hated about her. She _knew_. She could take one look at him, even at his very best moment of meditation and tell what he was feeling. When her blue eyes inspected him, she wasn't looking at his body, she was looking into his soul. She _always_ knew. First, he'd hated it. Despised it. He'd been terrified of being so intimate with someone. Of being so vulnerable. Of being _close_.

Sympathy got you killed. Empathy got you hurt, then killed. Being open, vulnerable and naked, so very naked, got you butchered up. And he knew that very well. So, he'd stayed away from her. Shied from her knowing eyes. Hid from her comforting touches. Ignored her loving words. Ran from her very being. Until she'd chased him down and made him face her. Now, now he allowed her everything. She was the only one who could look at him and not see the cold, ruthless man that he liked to portray himself as. She'd grown up in worse winters, she'd told him once.

By the time he reached her, she'd already placed her book on his nightstand, her glasses carefully folded on top of it. His hands found her waist, noticing then that she was wearing one of his shirts, a black button up, silk. He mused that it was a good use for the clothing article, seeing as he rarely wore it himself, preferring something easier to move around in. Her hands came to his chest, tracing a trail up to his neck, pulling him down to her needlessly. He was planning on bending to her height anyways.

Their lips met and he let out a soft sigh into the kiss. She was like a glass of water to a man in the desert. She was like the air to a drowning man. She was like the sunshine after a long storm. She was medicine to his wounds.

His hands left her waist so that he could wrap his arms around her small form, pulling her into him more. She pressed against him, so soft and warm, smelling of daffodils and his soap. Smelling of home. The lazy, open mouthed kiss which they'd been sharing broke, his head dropping to her shoulder where he took a long, deep breath, before shakily exhaling.

He didn't know why, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. He let her see just how broken he was. Just how much he simply wanted to sit down, lay down and wait until his time was up. And he would, he really would, if only she'd grasp his hand and lay her head on his chest, waiting for both of their hearts to stop beating. But, he couldn't be that selfish. Not with her.

Her fingers kept massaging the nape of his neck, making his tense muscles relax, and he let out another sigh, his arms gripping her close to him, in an almost painful, possessive embrace. After a few moments, he moved away, their eyes connecting once more, and this time, the air practically crackled around them. The next kiss was urgent, messy, full of clashing teeth and battling tongues, because it wasn't about love anymore. It wasn't about missing each other. It wasn't about caring. It was about needing.

He easily lifted her by her waist, slamming her into the wall, narrowly avoiding the nightstand. Her bare foot brushed it as her legs came around his waist, pulling him close, gripping him tightly. Their kiss broke as she laughed, undoubtedly remembering the previous mishap with the nightstand, when they'd crashed into it in their haste to get to the bed. He couldn't help the small smirk on his lips at the sound of her joy.

She tugged at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it free from the hem of his pants where it had been tucked in, and he reluctantly let her go for a mere second, just so she could get the clothing out of the way. Her legs pulled him towards her again, his arms bracing against the wall as he lost his balance for a bit, dark spots dancing in his field of vision.

"Red zone?" She asked, breathless, her voice deeper and much huskier than usual. He gave a short nod, his vision swimming once more. Her fingers brought him back into focus, gently caressing his arms, all the way from his hands to his shoulders, before they dropped down to his chest, tentatively touching the muscles there. She ghosted over his ribs, the touch making him suck in a sharp breath at the stab of pain and she gave a frown. He could almost see her thinking, but the image of her unwrapping her legs from him and leaving, like he knew she could, was unbearable.

"Red zone." He told her in a firm voice, giving her a warning. He was alright. She kissed him gently, softly, from her position above him, caressing his lips in such a different way from the last kiss. She let out a sigh of pure content when he reciprocated and allowed her to set the pace. Though, he couldn't help his hands, which had a mind of their own. As her fingers slowly trailed across his body, searching for more wounds, his hands came to rest on her small form, one at her hip and the other at her cheek. He loved the way she leaned into his touch by instinct, moving her head to the side, letting him splay his fingers behind her ear and across her neck, barely dipping into her hairline, as his thumb stayed on her face.

"Red zone." She whispered against his lips, the touch a mere phantom, as soon as she found the large gash across his back. He sucked in a breath as she slowly explored it, her fingers going across the rapidly healing flesh, counting the number of crisscrosses that the thread made. Her teeth caught his lower lip, gently biting on it, distracting him as she finished her assessment of his injuries. "Oh, Kanda." She finally whispered to him, her hands on his neck now, thumbs rubbing his jaw.

After that, they forgot the meaning of slow.

His next kiss hadn't been gentle at all and he'd moved her away from the wall, stumbling for a mere second, before slamming her back into the wardrobe on his left. She'd gasped and then giggled, fingers sliding into his hair, without undoing the signature ponytail, gripping it tight and undoubtedly messing it up. He'd found, soon after he'd admitted to his obsession with her legs, that he loved doing one more thing with her. Slamming her into vertical surfaces. And, he'd found that she loved it just as much as he did, if not more. He knew, as soon as her back or front hit a wall or a door, by that little gasp of pure lust that she let out, that he was free to do whatever he wished to her afterwards.

They stumbled back, more accurately, he did, and then he dropped to the bed, her on top. He loved this position as well. There was simply something about seeing her above him, her lips bruised from their kisses, her hair messed up from his fingers and her eyes alight with a familiar spark that he couldn't resist. Nor did he ever complain about the small move that she did with her hips from that position, rolling them ever so subtly, while still gripping him with her thighs.

He reached up, taking the sides of the shirt she'd stolen just around the collar, preparing to pull it apart and rip the buttons off. He didn't really care much about the clothing anyways, he cared much more about seeing her bare immediately. Though, she noticed his intentions and her hands came to rest atop of his, her eyes giving him a scolding glare and her hips becoming still. Obviously, she cared for the shirt much more than he did. He lay back on the bed and allowed her to do what she wanted, settling for gripping her thighs as she slowly undid the buttons. She was obviously aware of the way his eyes followed, focusing on each offending fastener as her fingers worked them out, letting him see more of her pale skin.

Finally, she reached the bottom, revealing that she was wearing _only_ his shirt, which was quite nice. Usually, she wore corsets. And corsets were a pain to unlace, especially in haste. She moved down, kissing him once more, before she rose a bit, her fingers undoing his pants in record time. He'd always been quite impressed with that particular skill of hers. Useless, except in the bedroom, but she could undress like nobody's business.

Soon, he was completely naked and he pulled them both deeper into the bed, so that they could be more comfortable. Her glorious giggling followed them as she bent down for yet another kiss, careful not to press on any of his injuries.

* * *

He lay on his bed, head on his pillows, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, tired from both his work and their previous activities. Her head was lying on it, pressed against his tattoo, where his heart was. She was listening to it, like she enjoyed doing ever so often. She was also winded, her breathing coming out in short gasps. He liked the way they sounded, because her mouth formed them in an 'a', different from when they were intimate. Then, they sounded much more like 'o's.

She drew a deep breath and then slowly released it in one more 'a' sounding sigh, before looking up. She looked rather content there, on his chest, cheeks flushed and lips bruised from their feverish kisses. She propped herself up on her elbow, one hand in her hair and pushed herself up, leaning down for a slow but chaste kiss. He snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him and enjoying the feel of both her warm skin and the damp, silk shirt, which she was still wearing, on his body.

"How was the mission?" She asked when they pulled apart, her free hand coming up to move his sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

"Uneventful." He settled for, his eyebrows scrunching in distaste. She leaned down and planted one more kiss on his lips, smiling into it. God only knew how she had him wrapped around her little finger.

"Do you need to go to medical?" She asked once again when they separated for air, causing a similar reaction to the previous one to come from him.

"No." He grit his teeth.

"Alright." She leaned down, this time allowing the kiss to be longer, opening his mouth gently with a nip of her teeth and practically diving in. If there was one thing which he was proud that he'd learned from her it was enjoying kissing. She kissed like she talked, full of tender love and gentleness. He kissed like he fought, precise and down to the point, no-nonsense. But, there were moments when he just enjoyed the moments which they shared and the time that they had together. Then, he kissed her like she did him, slowly and tenderly, like they had all eternity at their disposal. "Would you like a bath, then?" She spoke against his lips, and he could feel the sly smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth.

"Hmmm." He hummed, pushing his head up a bit, so that he could steal another kiss before she decided to run off, like she often did.

"Alright." She agreed, a wide smiled on her face now and she quickly pecked his cheek before jumping up and off the bed. He took a moment to marvel in the feeling of pure content which he was currently feeling, enjoying the view of the redheaded woman that was bounding around and gathering the supplies which they needed. He was right, in the end. He didn't need medicine. He only needed her.

"Do you reckon the General's bathing room is free?"


End file.
